


Butterflies

by lea_hazel



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Cultural Themes, Culture Shock, Exile, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Setting as Character, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill has trouble adjusting to alienage culture and meets a new friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies

"The Vhenadahl is very pretty," said Merrill doubtfully. "The p-- the people here, they surely take very good care of it. All painted in bright colors, and hung with paper lanterns... I wonder if the children make the lanterns. I wonder if they'll let me make one and hang it."

"Sure they will, Daisy," said Varric encouragingly. "Why wouldn't they? It'll be fun."

"You see, Merrill?" said Hawke. "Once you get to know your neighbors you'll feel right at home."

"And if you don't, the Hanged Man is right around the corner," added Isabela helpfully.

In the square around the Vhenadahl women were hanging laundry, and skin-kneed children played noisily. A man was digging in the dirt around the tree's roots. Merrill watched him push the spade, breaking the ground's hard crust and turning up loose, crumbling earth, filling the air with the smell of fresh damp dirt. Her eyes flicked towards the stairs leading to Lowtown, where Hawke and the others had left her. She'd thought she'd seen a butterfly, there. If she'd been alone maybe she would have chased it, caught it, brought it back with her.

The key rattled in a padlock so big and heavy it filled her whole palm. Eventually she managed to pry it open and let herself in. Looking in from outside, the house seemed low and shadowed beneath the high walls all around, but from within, the two rooms felt empty as a gaping, hungry maw. A wooden table in the front room was surely big enough to accommodate a whole family, mother and father and a dozen raucous children clamoring for a hot dinner.

Instead of dinner she spread out her books and scrolls and papers. She stared at them but the letters would not form words before her eyes, so she left them as they were and stepped out into the square. All around her the shadows were deepening, dusk descending early as the sun dipped and hid behind the looming buildings. Each wall was lined with close ranks of windows, each window was a home with a family within, opening wide so mothers could call their children in before darkness fell.

Men and women were trickling in, down the steps from Lowtown, up the steps from the docks. Tangling briefly around the Vhenadahl to exchange greetings, gossiping, fanning out to retreat each to their own doorway. Only the lone man and his spade remained, pushing the metal tip into the ground and overturning it full of crumbling dirt. Merrill watched him silently, her arms curled around her shoulders against the growing evening chill.

"That should do it."

Merrill started. The square was so still that his quiet words reached her ears quite clearly.

He waved at her, and went on, "I'll be planting the seeds first thing tomorrow morning, if you want to join me."

"I-- uh--" she fumbled and stuttered, but the stranger had already disappeared into a dark doorway with his spade in tow.

***

He was waiting for her on the following morning, leaning against the Vhenadahl's painted trunk. A little light filtered into the square, throwing sharp shadows under the figures that passed them by. He held his hand out to her and she dutifully pressed it in hers.

"You're Dalish," he said curiously.

Suddenly she felt self-conscious, as though she were reflecting poorly on her people. What sort of Keeper's First was she? She had not even greeted him properly, according to tradition. Now was too late, it would be awkward and strange to speak up. Flustered beyond words, Merrill only nodded her answer, and felt ruder than ever.

He laughed softly. "Don't be shy," he said. "We've had a few of yours in Kirkwall before. Mostly young girls like you."

"I, uh, thank you," said Merrill. She wondered what he must think of her for leaving her clan, blushed, and hastily changed the subject. "What are you planting?"

He drew his closed hand from his pocket and opened it for her to see. "Snapdragons," he explained. "Last year's didn't come up too well. They need sunlight, so I'm planting them right in the middle of the courtyard. With a little luck we'll have a rainy winter and a sunny spring."

"Flowers _would_ make it seem brighter here," said Merrill, frowning at the towering gray walls.

"Don't let it fool you," he said, shaking his head kindly. "You just caught us on a bad day. Stick around, maybe we'll get to show you real alienage hospitality."

Merrill smiled as best she could. "I'd like that."

"Wait until spring. Everything will seem brighter with the trees in bloom and some sunlight coming in," he promised.

"It's not all bad," she said, feeling the urge to defend herself. "I thought I saw a butterfly, yesterday."

The stranger laughed. "Where?" he asked gently.

Merrill waved vaguely in the direction of the stairs. "Over there, somewhere. It was white, or maybe yellow. I only saw it for a moment."

"It must've come in from the bazaar," said the stranger, still smiling, but wistfully.

***

When she showed up on the doorstep of the Hanged Man, some weeks later, Isabela insisted on treating her to a mug of sour, watery ale.

"So, Kitten, are you all settled in?" she asked, leaning back in her seat. "What did you learn?"

"Well," said Merrill, counting on her fingers, "I learned not to walk under windows when the washwater is about to come down, I got lost on the way to the fish market and ended up in a Darktown card room, and I found a place where ink costs less than flax oil."

"Looks like you know all you need to, then," said Isabela with a satisfied grin. "Good on you, Kitten."

Merrill smiled a slow, watery smile and added under her breath. "And I learned that there are no butterflies in the alienage."

Isabela didn't hear her. Even if she had, Merrill doubted if the words would mean very much to her.  

**Author's Note:**

> Internet cookies to the first person who recognizes the literary reference I used.


End file.
